Monday, March 24, 2014

So, Friday at noon, we are off. I could discuss every
section of the course. I could tell you about the terrain and it's
ease. I could write about the runners who passed me, as I smiled and was
at peace with my 14 minute mile pace as I slowly glided up and down the
first 19.5 miles of the course. But, that was the easy part. This
first loop of the first 50 mile course is the most "technical" of the
entire race. And, it's not that technical. There is some moderate
climbing, but nothing compared to what I have done in our Wasatch
mountains. This first 19.5 miles is the section of the course that I
have done countless times in training runs over the last 2 years. I
know it, no surprises, so I was moving slowly, listening to music,
enjoying the sunshine, trying not to think about the sunsets and
sunrises that still lay before me. I remember looking at my watch as I
came around the winding trail and saw the start finish for the first of 4
times in my near future. I was 4 hours in, to what I had mentally
prepared for a 28 hour run.Not much to tell for many miles ahead, but I hit the
start finish, 19.5 mi. in 4:15. My time was 30 minutes longer than last
year when I did this 50 mile loop. But, last year I only did this 50
mile loop once..not twice. This is where I first saw my one woman
support team. Cheryl! I smiled, I asked about her day, she loaded up my
race vest, the sun was shining, we were both smiling, I was on my
way..."See ya in a few hours".Because my dear friend advised me to write down all the
good things that happened out there after...here's #1. Miles 19.5-27.5
were just blissful. I listened to the entire Mumford and Son's Babel
album. I listened to the entire Counting Crows, Recovering the
Satellites album. I was reflective on things in my life that are or were
heavy. If I began to run faster than 14 min. miles, I slowed down, and
stayed at 14:00. I was eating, I was drinking, I was organized, I was
pain free, it was my perfect stretch.

The
next 20+ miles were uneventful. I saw Cheryl twice at the Lower Frary
aid station. I hit it once, she loaded me up, told me to take my head
lamp, as it would be dark on my way back, and I was out of there. I
would be back at Lower frary in 11 miles. Leaving there, we runners go
out 5.6 miles to the Ranch house on Antelope Island, then turn back
around for another 5.6.Not surprisingly, I began to get uncomfortable,
and experience some pain in the joints, in the feet, and in the arms and
shoulders. But, I felt considerably good. I was eating regularly, I was
taking salt every hour, I had ZERO stomach issues throughout this
entire race (#2 good thing). This section of the course 20-50 are
flat. ran about 16 miles of this section in the dark with a lamp and my
music on a shuffle. I had dropped between a 15-16 minute a mile pace,
but was comfortable with that, given I knew in a few hours I was
starting the 50 mile course all over again.

I
got to the start finish line for the second time. one sun had set. it
had taken about 12:40 hours to do the first 50. Right on schedule. Here
I'd meet Cheryl and we'd be off in to the night to start the second 50
miles. Before race day, I wrote these miles off in my head. I knew I'd
meet my friend, and we'd chat to pass the time, hiking, running, getting
it done, like we have done so many times before. 4-5 mornings a week
all winter long, every Saturday, many Sundays, the 55k we did in Moab a
month before. I wrote these miles off as the "easy" ones to get through
because I was going at them with my friend. I had just spent 13 hours
alone on the trail, and this was going to be a brand new run...except, I
was having trouble actuallyrunning.

Pain
and fatigue were setting in, significantly in the feet and knees. But, I
was still happy with the pace. We moved well through out the night. We
did some considerable jogging on all the downhills. We hiked the 8
switchbacks swiftly enough, and we reached Elephant head aid station for
my 4th and final time of this race around 5:20 am..."Did it just get
colder?" I asked, Chery. "Yeah, it really did."....There were 3 or 4 men sitting down in the aid station
tent. One of them I recognized from yesterday, he asked me to move out
of his way at mile 8 ish. He was wrecked in a chair, not moving
anywhere now, unable to speak or gesture at me, just a glance up in our
direction. I knew that feeling, and I had been scared to death of it
creeping up in me all day and night. Another man was wrapped in a
blanket, and another his head in his hands. This was roughly mile 63As we headed down the trail, working our way towards the
start finish for my third time of the race. The temperature dropped and
the wind picked up fiercely. Ughhh..spoiled by really good running
weather all day and night, this unexpected weather brutally whipping our
faces and chilling our bodies, well..it sucked. We sucked it up
somehow with hand warmers, and the knowledge that we were almost to the
aid station and mile 69.The sky was a deep blue as the sun was rising in the
west. it would be daylight as I started the third leg miles 70-100.
Truthfully, I didn't think much about these miles. I thought they would be relatively easy
to conquer given their proximity to completion. On the contrary, these
were the most difficult. The sun was up. Cheryl loaded up my race vest,
Jill was there ready to start the 50k. The 50 milers took off at 6am,
almost 2 hours ago. I remember Jill said"you're going to finish your
first 100 today" She said "it will be like this (she moved her hand in
an up and down motion..you'll have some up's and down's) "But, you're
there".And, so, I left the warmth of the tent back out to a
clear, cold, windy morning. And, I was overwhelmed with the 30 miles
that I still had to gobble up praying to God that they wouldn't gobble
me up first. The wind was so terrible, that the tears falling from eyes
as I hiked in pain up the dirt road to the mountain view trail head
cleared my face sideways. My music died and I was too cold to mess with
pulling out my back up. I was close to the road at this point, and I
spotted Cheryl in her Subaru stopped on the side looking down the trail,
looking for me. I waved at her, and pointed to the parking lot ahead of
me, where the out and back of this section turned around. I got in her
car. "It's so windy!" she said.

I'm
not sure if she could see it in my face, or hear it in my voice, but I
was feeling defeated at this very moment. "Ill meet you at lower frary,
and run the rest of the way with you" Originally, she would have still
met me at Lower Frary, but the second time through that aid station, of
my second loop, running that last 11 miles with me (I know it's all so
confusing, Ill post a map below, so it makes more sense) But, she was
going to do the last 20ish with me instead. The gold spirit and the
positive energy had been sucked out of me by the change in weather, my
pulsating toes, and my fatigue were screaming JUST STOP! at me. Cheryl
did not let me dive into that, she just got me back out there. I started
this race over 20 hours ago, and I found no comfort in the fact that I
had only 30 more miles to go, but quite the opposite. Cheryl had given
me her fleece hooded jacket before I left the start/finish for my third
time. I sat in her heated car as I ate food, ate salt, and got my back
up music on. She got me my other hat. And, i got out of her heated,
windless car with 2 hats and a hood on. I was shivering for miles. I
briefly thought I was having fever symptoms; as the wind finally shifted
and the sun was completely up, but I was still shaking and cold. I
made it about 6 miles where the trail crosses the road, and there was
Cheryl, again. She was waiting with cut up fresh pineapple and melons.
Ill meet you at the aid station, which was about a mile away. I got
there, I got in her car again. I ate the fruit and the fruit was good.
She was getting dressed to finish this thing with me I wanted to change my socks, they
were wet and filled with little rocks and grains of dirt and sand. The
blister on my toe looked like a hammer head fish. "that doesn't look
good" Cheryl said with a half smile. "what should I do?" "Ya gotta pop
it, I have a lighter, anti-bacterial stuff, and some band aids". So, I
took the safety pin off my bib, and sparked it up. I popped that sucker
in 3 different places as water oozed down my foot. I bandaged that toe
and a few other blisters, and crammed my swollen feet back in to my
once pretty pink and purple Hokas, that I now wanted to spit and piss
on, and throw out the window. Here's the mileage break down in my brain at this point

5.6 miles to the ranch, ugh.5.6 miles back from the ranch, shit5ish miles to the mountain view aid station, ok, then I'll be able toseeit (it: that point where completion is attainable)6 miles, that road to the finish is going to hurt.If I wrote about each of those pieces of this race, then
this will be twice as long. But, these were the hardest miles I have
ever slugged through. It's important for me to note the good thing in
each of these final sections was again having my friend Cheryl with me.
My feet felt broken. With each step I whimpered. I began to sob when she
said we'd have to pick up the pace or I would not make the cut off.
And, when I began to think about that fact, I felt even lower and bluer
than I can ever remember. To work so hard physically and mentally for so
many months, and then for so many hours in the heat of it, to be so
close... and realize that it might not have been enough enough...well,it
just broke me. And, I sobbed. Im not even sure if there were actual
tears left in me at this point, but I sobbed. Neither of us said a
thing. Cheryl put her arm around me, and we walked on for a few minutes,
until I dropped behind her again, and walked as fast as I fucking
could. And the only way I could move at all was watching her feet in
front of me."I know it's going to hurt but we have to run some if we
are going to make it". She began a timed walk run. We'd walk 10 minutes
and then run a minute and a half; these jaunts riddled me with physical
pain, and I'd grunt and whimper at the end of each. (Begin the fast, you're gonna finish this thing music) I asked Cheryl to count down the miles to me. "11", "10",
"9", (Single digits) "7" (whew, I was hoping she skipped one, or that
was a lonnng mile:) When we got to the Mountain View aid station, we had
about 2:20 to go 6 miles. This part of the course half sucks. You spend 2
miles on the road and cutting across a rugged field like area with
poky little plant life. The concrete felt like baseball bats swinging in
to my heels, toes, and knees with every single step. The dirt was
slightly more forgiving, but not much. We were moving too slow for
comfort. Once we hit the the 3 ish more miles to go, Cheryl told me to
go ahead. I saw her slowing down and holding her stomach. She was
getting ill, and I felt horrible that she had spent literally 25 hours
making sure I ate and drank, so intently, that she might have forgotten
to eat herself. I walked quickly, and jogged the slight inclines, but
again this trail is mostly flat. Every. Single. Step. Hurt. My voice
was shaky and ready to sob again when everyday hikers and runners would
pass "Good Job! "keep it up!", they'd say. I politely said "thanks", but
I didn't believe them. I kept going, because really what the hell can
you do when your 2 miles away from finishing. The sun was setting for
the second time. The mile long road to the finish was difficult, but I
jogged/walked. I saw my yellow B.O.B in the distance, up against the
fence at the start/ finish. I was about to get there for my fourth and
final time. Olivia my daughter spotted me, and ran down to the road to
meet me. I saw my husband, my youngest daughter, Sylvia in her
ridiculously cute little rain boots, Jill was there too. Not many other
spectators or cars. The races were essentially over. I was going to make
the cut off, i knew that now. I was mere feet away from the mats.

Done. Holy Hell. I'm done. Thank God, I'm done and I finished my first 100 mile race. 30:18 was my final time. 14
women started the 100 miler on Friday, 8 finished. I was 8th. 70
people were registered for the race, 46 crossed the finish line, I was
44th. I had to write about this, because it almost doesn't seem
like it happened. The farthest I had run up until this past weekend was
50 miles. Out there, I thought at one point, this is going to make me
hate running, but that was a short lived feeling derived from flight or
fight. I felt like I was failing for many, many, many hours out there. But, as reflection comes later, I was fighting not failing.
Cheryl is so experienced with ultra running, ya know, being an ultra
runner and a Meltzer, and all...I put all my trust in to whatever she
said to do. But, mostly she was my friend out there. A few weeks ago, I asked her very sincerely not to let me quit.Well, she kept her promise:)

So, that was that. Clearly, I'm not a competitor in ultra
running, but it's something I really enjoy, and I'm not embarrassed
that I am slow. I've said it before, but that feeling of accomplishing
something so difficult is so good for the soul..for my toes, eh, not so
much.

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